


Ares

by TheLastWhiteRose



Series: Greek Gods [1]
Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Cheating, F/M, I don’t know if it’s really explicit, Infidelity, I’m going through something right now, One-Sided Relationship, Pining, Side hoes, So here’s more angst, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2019-01-16 15:26:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12345402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLastWhiteRose/pseuds/TheLastWhiteRose
Summary: In the Greek myths, Ares had been the battlegrounds god, the epitome of masculinity and bloodshed. It was to be expected that the fiercest warrior be paired off with the finest female. They were destined for one another, since the beginning of time, but Hephaestus had to intervene, attempting to alter fate by marrying Aphrodite. Pathetic, really, for one to be so desperate for a singular woman that they were willing to suffer through her affairs.





	Ares

**Author's Note:**

> This is the start of a series I’m writing on the Greek Gods, where every chapter mentions a new god. Ha, get it. I’m working through some shit right now, so I am reflecting that through writing instead of murdering someone.

Lavender scent engulfed Zen’s nostrils, filling him with a distinct brand of dread only (MC) could instill in him. She was his Aphrodite, and he, her Ares. She was the deity of femininity and the epitome of beauty, something to admire, but also to fear. Compelling, alluring, and captivating all the same, (MC) had held his heart prisoner since the day she’d mysteriously appeared in the R.F.A chatroom. The thought left a bitter ache in his chest. It seemed she had left the impression on more than just him.

If she was Aphrodite, and he Ares, Jumin was Hephaestus. A scoundrel in his own right, desperately clinging to the scraps of affection (MC) carelessly doled. Jumin was pathetic, blind even, if he did not see the sordid trysts Zen shared with (MC), the chaste kisses in between meetings, or the smoldering glances within those same meetings. Zen groaned softly, propping himself up on his elbows, their combined release dripping off his porcelain abs. 

(MC) sauntered from the bathroom, water droplets inking her skin like tattoos, creating soft rivulets against it. There was a towel wrapped loosely around her to preserve her modesty. Not that she had any left, Zen thought smugly. For a moment, he took himself back to the previous few hours. The way her cunt had squeezed him beyond belief, as if she was still a virgin. Her moans, soft and breathy, until they mingled with his into a cacophony of debauchery, resonated in his head. His musings were cut short by the sight of (MC) sliding on her stockings and skirt, before picking up her essentially ruined bra. 

“Leaving so soon?” Zen drawled, hoping the seduction he coated his voice in masqueraded the angst in his expression. “We’ve hardly begun, my love.” He sauntered over to her, hooking an arm onto her partially dressed figure. For a moment, she reciprocated the embrace, before pecking him on the cheek gently. 

“I can’t stay long,” (MC) said quietly, as if weighing her options. She seemed to reach a consensus with herself soon, as she picked up her shirt and slid it over her body. “Jumin’s got a business trip and I’m supposed to pick up from the airport.” Her voice was utterly unapologetic, as if she wasn’t discussing her husband in front of the man who’d just fucked her raw. She hoisted her Louis Vuitton bag, bought by the Devil himself, across her shoulder, before peering at Zen from narrowed eyes. “I hope you understand. Tonight’s been fun, but…” she trailed off, shrugging as she slid her feet into her equally expensive high heels. 

“Wait!” Zen grabbed her discarded towel, wrapping it around him for modesty. “When can I see you again?”

She seemed to ponder this proposition for a moment, before shrugging once more. “You have my number, text me.” With that, she was gone, the sound of her high heels growing fainter and fainter as she left. 

In the Greek myths, Ares had been the battlegrounds god, the epitome of masculinity and bloodshed. It was to be expected that the fiercest warrior be paired off with the finest female. They were destined for one another, since the beginning of time, but Hephaestus had to intervene, attempting to alter fate by marrying Aphrodite. Pathetic, really, for one to be so desperate for a singular woman that they were willing to suffer through her affairs.

Zen took a drag from his cigarette, breathing in the harsh toxins. Pathetic, really, to be so bothered over one woman that you’d be willing to settle as her second best. Pathetic, to lap up the remnants of attention she doled like a damned dog. Pathetic.


End file.
